monologue. Ever since he'd been a teenager, there had been a mass of conflicting emotions in his
head. They were always so convoluted, so messy, that it had just been easier to focus on what
was in front of him. He could usually find ways to solve whatever problem presented itself
outside his head. Solving the problems inside required help. He knew he couldn't do it alone. But
right now, he didn't have help. He was all by himself, and what was in his head couldn't be
ignored.
Ulysses let the sadness and grief of Nera's departure wash over him. His eyes filled with
tears almost immediately at the bitter truth. He missed her terribly and would never see her
again. He sobbed quietly to himself as he walked up the stairs to his apartment. He cried until the
sun went down within the privacy of his living room.
He knew that some of the upset he was experiencing had nothing to do with Nera. Some
of it was just old damage bubbling up to the surface. It had been there long before he met Nera.
Some of his tears were born of real frustration at his current lot in life. He had no job, little
money, no healthcare, and no car. These were things that he knew he could manage, but they
added their weight to the issues that currently pressed his psyche.
Underlying everything else that distressed him right now was the knowledge that he
didn't have a plan. Ulysses didn't know where he was going or what he was doing with his life.
Sure, maybe no one really knows where they're going, he thought to himself. But he also figured
most people end up where they end up because of whatever they're trying to do. What was he
trying to do? He didn't know the answer.
Ulysses wiped his eyes and blew his nose. Once his face was relatively dry again, he let
out a sigh. He got up and went to his fridge for a beer. He paused after popping the lid off.
Ulysses looked around his apartment from the kitchen, then wandered through the rooms that
made it up. He casually surveyed his material possessions as he went. The physical traces and
clues about his life. Ulysses wondered what all of it said about him. Did it tell a coherent story
about who he was? Did what it say matter, or was he the one that had to decide what it all said?
Was it really up to just him to decide who he was?
He was pretty sure he already knew the answer. He didn't look forward to the amount of
uncomfortable work it was going to be. He let out a long sigh as he came to a stop in the middle
of his living room.
"To figuring it out!" Ulysses said, raising his bottle. UJ